


Kingpin

by BanimalQ



Category: Kingsman (Movies), Little Favour (2013), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Biting, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Butt Plugs, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, John gets quite demanding of how Sherlock comes, Johnlock Roulette, Kingpin John, Little Favour may have been the entire reason for this fic, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Blow Jobs, Rimming, Sherlock just sort of spends the fic moaning, Top John Watson, Vocal John, Voyeurism, but not really gross just a bit icky, freebeard, gratuitous beard references so you don't forget, i am actually depraved, i just live in a world where Sherlock is always prepped and ready for John H Watson's massive cock, intense love of semi-colons, lil pink bootyhole, not actually but could be dubious consent so don't complain if you have issues with dub con, some sex scenes might require a suspension of belief, this is just terrible filthy horrible sex so be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-10-06 05:04:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10326179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanimalQ/pseuds/BanimalQ
Summary: “Boss, I thought I’d bring you a gift, I know how you don’t mind mixing business with pleasure. Sherlock, why don’t you show him what you’re good at, huh?”Wilkes inclined his head towards John and moved towards the only chair in room to sit. John watched Sherlock’s eyes assess him, it felt as if Sherlock was reading John’s mind and asking him a question with one look. With a slight nod, Sherlock closed the space between himself and the sofa and dropped to the floor between John’s knees. He reached up to unfasten John’s trousers without a word; the man chuckled above him.“Eager, are you? Go ahead then,” John said, lifting his hips a little, “With a mouth like that I’d love to experience your particular skill set.”





	1. One Text

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannahrieu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrieu/gifts).



> **you don’t need to know a thing about Little Favour or Kingsman to enjoy this little bit of smut. LF was the inspiration for Sherlock towards the end of the fic and our dear Eggsy makes an appearance, that’s all**
> 
> It's about time I posted this. Thank you ladies, for giving me the actual shove off a cliff to do it ;) Honestly I am not sure if this will be a real story or just this and that shoved together.

_One text_. He was almost certain that he would regret it, but one text would easily solve his current problem. There were other options available, though most involved his brother and therefore were immediately discarded. 

Sherlock pulled out his phone and opened his messages, there was one unopened message from Sebastian Wilkes. Sherlock hadn’t seen him since he dropped out of uni and Mycroft sent him to rehab for the second time. He should have deleted the message when he got it. But now two weeks later, with rent due and Mycroft being an insufferable prick, Sherlock was not only considering reading the message but responding to it.

_hey lets party txt me back_

A shudder ran through Sherlock. He remembered clearly what it meant to party with Seb, and Sherlock knew what he would want from him in return for a favor.

Sherlock took a deep breath and typed out a reply.

_I need a favor. Can we meet? SH_

His thumb hovered over keyboard. He wasn’t desperate yet, but maybe it was better to ask Wilkes for help now rather than when he was homeless and broke. He quickly hit send before he had a chance to change his mind.

Sherlock set his phone aside and wandered to the table that held his latest experiment.  Seb had always liked to keep Sherlock at a disadvantage, so he knew not to wait around for a response.

The next day Sherlock received a text with an address and time, Seb’s eloquent way of answering the question. Another wave of doubt came over Sherlock, but Sherlock wasn’t the junkie he had been back in uni. He had control over his addiction and would leave if he couldn’t accept Seb’s terms.

He quickly dressed and left his flat. He would have to hurry if he was going to make it on time; being late would put him at a disadvantage he couldn’t afford.

Sherlock walked down the street, reading the numbers above each door. He found the one he was looking for with minutes to spare and knocked on the door. A moment later he heard footsteps approaching. A slight woman, no, a girl really, opened the door and moved aside to let Sherlock in. He walked down the short hallway to an open doorway and stepped through, taking in the room before him. There were several people in varying states of dress and consciousness, liquor bottles and drug paraphernalia littered the tables and floor. The girl who let him in walked through the mess and sat on the couch where Seb was waiting.

“Seb,” Sherlock said as a greeting. Seb looked at him for a moment before his mouth contorted into some semblance of a smile.

“Sherlock Holmes. I didn’t think I would see you after you left uni, and here you are, crawling back to me for a favor,” he said with a gesture to the coffee table in front of him where a few lines of coke were laid out. “Here, on the house.”

A flood of longing rushed through his body, though he knew better than to get high with Seb ever again. He pushed back the craving and looked Seb in the eye.

“That’s not why I’m here,” Sherlock began, though before he could say more Seb let out a bark of laughter.

“You! Pass up free drugs? Don’t tell me you’re clean, you sure didn’t seem sober when I saw you at that party a couple of weeks ago.” Seb chuckled as he leaned forward and snorted a line. Sherlock stood unmoving as he watched. He was more certain that this was a horrible idea and wanted to walk out, though he knew Seb wouldn’t let the matter go until he found out what Sherlock wanted.

“I know why you’re here, Mycroft must have cut you off and now you don't have money for drugs. I’m sorry to say that the understanding we had in uni won’t work now. The boss doesn’t let us take favors for merchandise.” Seb leered at Sherlock as he spoke, reminding Sherlock of all that their arrangement had entailed before. He straightened his back and arranged his face into a look, he hoped, of disinterest and not disgust.

“I wasn’t looking for the arrangement we had. As much as it pains me to say, you’re right, Mycroft found out that I am using again, so I have no money, no job, and rent due. I just need a little help until I find a job.” He could barely manage to choke out the words, the thought of Mycroft was the only thing keeping his feet rooted to the floor below him.

Seb let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Lucky for you, I am diversifying. I’m doing some, ah let’s call it freelance work, for a gentleman. I told him about the little trick you do —“

“It’s not a trick,” murmured Sherlock.

“Whatever you want to call it, he’s interested. So, you’ll come with me to a meeting tonight, do your thing, and then I’ll take you to Mr. M and you tell him what you know. Meet me back here at 11 pm.” Seb settled back into the sofa and pulled the girl next to him onto his lap. 

“How much?” he asked. Seb looked to where Sherlock was still standing, his brow furrowed.

“How much, what?”

“How much will this man pay me to do my ‘little trick’,” he clarified.

“He’ll make it worth your time. Just be back here tonight. Now if you don’t mind, I’m busy,” Seb bit out, turning back to the girl in his lap. 

Sherlock turned and walked towards the door. A startled cry from the room he had just left stopped him as he reached for the door handle.

“Hey, it’s Wilkes, put me through.”

Sherlock silently walked back to the doorway.

“Hello, sir. Yes I just spoke with him. He said he’d do it. Well, the boss is used to me bringing little treats to tempt him, he’ll just think I’ve broadened my palate. No, he won’t suspect a thing. Yes, sir.”

 _Now things are getting interesting,_ Sherlock thought. 


	2. Skill Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He leaned forward and reached his had to swipe at Sherlock’s lower lip with his thumb. “Extraordinary,” he breathed as he leaned forward to kiss him. Sherlock’s lips felt just as good pressed against his as they had wrapped around his cock. He indulged himself, licking into Sherlock’s mouth, causing the man to moan again.

John Watson looked over the dance floor from the VIP lounge on the second floor of his club. From the balcony he had a clear visual on the entrance, the bar, and the hallway to the private rooms where the real money was made behind closed doors.

There were times when he was surprised at how his life had turned out. After med school he joined the RAMC and lived out some of his worst nightmares in Afghanistan. After being shot he came home with a tremor in his hand and a phone number for a job.

It turned out that many of the skills John had learned in the army were transferable to life in London’s greatest crime syndicate, not to mention his skills as a doctor being quite useful. His unassuming nature had allowed him to work his way to the top ranks of the syndicate, giving himself an open path to taking over when the boss was arrested for tax evasion, _of all things_ , he thought with a chuckle.

After claiming his position as Boss, he used his medical and army connections to build the perfect front for his more unsavory dealings. Dr. John Watson was now a pillar in the London community: businessman, advocate for veteran rights and champion for bringing medical issues associated with soldiers to the public eye.

He usually came to the club to relax and get away from the demands of work, but tonight he had to take care of some business with one of his lieutenants. 

Shortly before midnight John saw Seb Wilkes walk through the door with another man. Wilkes' companion was striking even from a distance; dark curly hair contrasting with pale skin. The man glanced up and met John’s eyes across the room. A shock of pleasure ran through John’s body, he licked his lips in anticipation as he watched the two wade through the bodies on the dance floor. Wilkes often brought along his pets to share in hopes that it would earn him favor with the boss. John rarely indulged. He sensed that tonight he would not have the willpower to resist, if he was to going be offered. He backed away from the railing and settled in his usual spot on the sofa to wait, keeping out of view from the approaching men.

The two men walked through the door just as the waitress was setting down drinks on the end table. John slipped some bills into the waist of her shorts with a wink, “Thanks, doll, we’re be all set for now. I’ll send one of the lads down if we need anything else.”

He waited until the door shut again, his eyes assessing the men in front of him while he absently ran his fingers through his beard. Wilkes was nervous, as to be expected. One wasn’t called in to meet with the boss unless there was a big problem. John had his second in command, Morstan, deal with daily runnings of the business’ more clandestine side, while he focused on his legitimate ventures. John needed to see Wilkes’ reaction when he told him the reason for the meeting, and putting him on edge before would only heighten his response.

The man who came in with Wilkes — younger than he appeared at first glance, tall and shockingly thin, body a collection of sharp angles, sleeves of his (obscenely tight) shirt pushed up just below his elbows — was obviously an addict. Wilkes seemed to only keep company with those in his rank and addicts he could keep under his thumb. Though John could see that this man would be a handful for anyone; his eyes were sharp, methodically taking in the lounge and it’s occupants. John paused as the pale eyes met his again. 

“Boss, I thought I’d bring you a gift, I know how you don’t mind mixing business with pleasure. Sherlock, why don’t you show him what you’re good at, huh?” 

Wilkes inclined his head towards John and moved towards the only chair in room to sit. John watched Sherlock’s eyes assess him, it felt as if Sherlock was reading John’s mind and asking him a question with one look. With a slight nod, Sherlock closed the space between himself and the sofa and dropped to the floor between John’s knees. He reached up to unfasten John’s trousers without a word; the man chuckled above him.

“Eager, are you? Go ahead then,” John said, lifting his hips a little, “With a mouth like that I’d love to experience your particular skill set.” 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom as the man between his legs began unfastening his trousers. Sherlock pulled them down a bit and quickly rolled on the condom before taking John’s cock in his mouth. He held it deep as it lengthened against his tongue.

“Fuck! Where did you find him?” he asked Wilkes, briefly tearing his eyes away from the dark mass of curls in his lap. Wilkes stared at the sight before him, shock evident on his face.

“Uh, you won’t believe it, but we went to uni together,” he said as he looked away. “The mouth on this one! He had a little trick he liked to do, he could tell your whole life story with one look. We hated him. Seems he’s learned how to put his mouth to better use since,” he said, feigning nonchalance.

Wilkes picked up a drink and kept talking about his days in uni, but John couldn’t get focused on anything but the delicious mouth on his cock. He could see why Wilkes wanted to show him off, but John wasn’t sure that he would be able to share something that good. He ran his fingers into the dark curls and pulled on them a bit, eliciting a moan from the man that sent shocks through his body. John held Sherlock’s jaw until the man lifted his eyes to make contact.

“Why don’t you make this last a little, yeah?” John said with a slight smirk. “I’d hate for you to be bored while we talk business.” 

Sherlock continued gently lapping at the hard cock in his mouth, then lightly sucking on it as his tongue swirled around the head. 

“Now, Wilkes, to get right to it, we’ve had a few discrepancies, so Morstan will be taking a look at all the crews. She is going to be conducting an audit of sorts: checking the books, talking with the crew chiefs and what have you.”

John kept his eyes on Wilkes as he talked, looking for any signs of panic. The truth was that there was evidence that Wilkes was skimming off the top and trying to fix the books to cover his tracks. He had an inkling that there was more to the story than petty theft, which was the reason to have Morstan do some digging. 

“Uh, yeah, sure boss, whatever you need,” Wilkes said as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He sat his empty glass down and walked over to the railing, giving some semblance of privacy to the exchange happening behind him.

Having taken care of the reason for this meeting, John allowed himself to settle back and enjoy what he was quickly determining was the best blowjob of his life. Sherlock had kept a steady pace while he had been talking, occasionally pulling off to lick his cock from base to tip before enveloping it in his mouth again. Now that John’s hands were back in his hair he began to suck harder, pushing his mouth as far down John’s length as he could. John pressed his hands down one Sherlock’s head causing him to choke a little, though his body stayed relaxed against John’s legs.

John looked down at Sherlock’s lips stretched around his cock and groaned, thrusting up into Sherlock’s perfect mouth. After having been on edge for so long John knew that he wasn’t going to last long. He tightened his hold on Sherlock’s hair as he shoved his cock deeper into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock moaned and John lost control, his orgasm overwhelming him as Sherlock swallowed around his cock again. He looked up at John, pupils blown wide, as he gently lapped at John’s cock until it stopped pulsing against his tongue. 

Slowly Sherlock moved his head back and sat back on his heels. John looked down at the sight before him and it took his breath away: Sherlock’s eyes were closed, his hair disheveled, a deep blush was staining his perfect cheekbones.

He leaned forward and reached his had to swipe at Sherlock’s lower lip with his thumb. “Extraordinary,” he breathed as he leaned forward to kiss him. Sherlock’s lips felt just as good pressed against his as they had wrapped around his cock. He indulged himself, licking into Sherlock’s mouth, causing the man to moan again.

"Don't trust Wilkes," Sherlock whispered as their lips separated. John settled back into sofa, his eyes following Sherlock as he stood and walked to the balcony overlooking the club. He paused for a moment before turning to Wilkes.

"Wilkes, you can leave now. Morstan will contact you with the details. I’ll see that Sherlock is taken care of tonight,” John stated and turned back to his drink and motioned to the men at the door to show Wilkes out.

“But —“

“Problem?" John asked, though his tone implied there was no room to question.

“No, sir, none at all. I’ll be waiting until I hear from Morstan,” Wilkes said as he moved to the door.

Sherlock turned back to John as the door shut, his eyes holding John’s gaze. The two stared at each other, neither moving. Sherlock’s cock was still hard, pressed against the zip of his trousers. John couldn’t help but chuckle again, this one had balls.

“Sit. Have a drink with me,” he said to Sherlock and motioned to the cushion next to him.

“I don’t drink, it slows me down.” Sherlock replied, taking the chair that Wilkes had previously occupied. A second passed before John started to laugh, Sherlock glared at him and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“That’s rich, coming from a drug addict,” he said, trying to tamp down his laughter. “Well, I’ll have my men get you set for the night and then we can talk tomorrow. I’ll send a car for you around noon.” John stood and walked to the door. Sherlock jumped to his feet.

“That’s it, you don’t want me to come with you? You don’t want anything more?” Sherlock tried to keep his voice steady and sure. The blush still evident on his face betrayed him. John turned back to him, reaching his thumb out to rub across Sherlock’s lush lips again.

“Tomorrow. We’ll discuss this tomorrow,” he promised.

And with that, John walked through the door. 


	3. Take It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He moaned and swallowed around John’s cock, causing John to shove his cock further into his mouth.
> 
> “That’s it, baby, take it,” John bit out, his voice wrecked with desire. The only other sounds in the room were Sherlock’s muffled moans and the wet smack of his lips. John griped Sherlock’s hair in one hand; tilting his head back, Sherlock looked up to meet John’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a bit of fleshing out to do on the rest of this story, so subscribe to get updates. I'm hoping to get a good bit finished this weekend. Take a few minutes and watch Little Favour and get your dirty minds ready for the upcoming filth.

“I looked you up last night,” John said as Sherlock walked through the door into his study. Sherlock was dressed as indecently as he had been the night before. His trousers were bespoke and tighter than John thought was healthy coming from a doctors standpoint. His shirt was straining at the buttons across his chest. Arousal hit John as suddenly as it had the night before when he first saw Sherlock. His fingers were itching to undo the overworked buttons.

“Oh? Find anything interesting?” Sherlock asked. His eyes betrayed the indifference he presented. He walked over to the window and looked out over the street below.

“The Science of Deduction. It wasn’t quite the bedtime reading I was hoping for, but intriguing. I will admit most of it was over my head,” John said with a chuckle. “What I really want to know is, what you would deduce about me from my choice in tie?”

“I don’t need to see your tie collection to deduce anything about you, Dr. Watson. I’m certain your closet is overrun with ghastly knit ties,” Sherlock said, a small shudder running through his body at the thought.

“Well,” John prodded, “What can you deduce about me?”

A grin spread across his face as he settled back into his chair to see what secrets Sherlock would uncover. Sherlock took in John for a moment, he could see the thoughts warring behind Sherlock’s eyes. At last a decision was made and Sherlock began to speak.  
 “It hardly seems fair to ask me that given that one doesn’t hear the name Dr. John Watson without knowing that you are one of the wealthiest men in London. Your business influence reaches from pharmaceuticals to property development. There are also many rumors floating around that your business ventures aren’t all above board. One tabloid claimed that your lover, Mary Morstan, was actually the second-in-command of your drug cartel.”

“Um, yeah, that’s about it, huh,” John trailed off. He wasn’t a man who held any illusions about who he was or what he was about. Nonetheless he had expected a bit more than a tabloid recap of his life. The smile faded from John’s lips. He wasn’t a man who was used to being wrong, and he had a sinking feeling that he was wrong about Sherlock Holmes.

“Never mind, let’s get to business and then I’ll have you taken back to your flat. Tell me what you meant last night when you said not to trust Wilkes.”

John crossed his ankle over his knee and hoped that he wasn’t going to be let down again. He might have let his personal attraction to the younger man color his judgement before, but he was certain that he had seen something in Sherlock’s eyes the night before.

“There were two reasons for Wilkes to bring me along last night. We had recently met again after my circumstances had changed and he wanted to humiliate me for needing to ask him for a favor. The more interesting reason is that Wilkes has started working for someone else. I don’t know who it is, but probably someone trying to get in on the London market. Wilkes has likely been tasked to find some leverage on you. He wanted me to deduce you and then report to one ‘Mr. M’ with my discoveries. After last nights indulgence I’m certain an attempt to blackmail or the like will occur pertaining to your sexual preferences. Though you are bisexual you are never seen in public with a man. Mary Morstan is most often accompanies you to events, though your sofa indicates you have never been romantically involved.”

John stared at Sherlock not knowing how to respond to information laid out before him.

“From my sofa?” he finally settled on, though when his brain came back online he was sure to have other concerns. It was then Sherlock’s turn to look surprised.

“All that and you want to know how I deduced you aren’t shagging someone?” he asked.

“I do, in fact,” John said, the grin returning to his face. “I already had my suspicions about Wilkes. I met with him last night to see his reaction firsthand, that man has no poker face. I’ve heard some murmurings about a new player on the scene. This doesn’t really change things, but it’s nice to get whatever advantage I can if this is how the game is going to be played.”

John sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes, his fingers settling at his jaw stroking the beard covering it. Sherlock stood at the window watching John deep in thought. John looked up, feeling the weight of Sherlock’s gaze on him.

“Tell me more. What did you deduce about me last night, Sherlock Holmes?” asked John. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. His eyes were dark and intense as they took in the man before him.

“When I walked in the club, I looked up and saw you at the balcony, standing at parade rest. Military career. Your hands, meticulously clean, nails clipped short. Doctor.”

“Brilliant,” John said, and it was. This is what he had been hoping to hear from Sherlock.

Sherlock took a deep breath and then took a chance, laying out the facts, like a crime scene.

“Your pupils were dilated, you spread your thighs wider . . . Interested.”

“And now, Sherlock,” John said, his voice deep. He stood and started towards the window. “What can you deduce about me now? Still interested?”  
 “Yes,” Sherlock breathed out, his eyes not leaving John’s as he approached. John licked his lips, his eyes darting down to Sherlock’s cock lengthening in his trousers.

“Do you know what I’m interested in right now?”

John stopped in front of Sherlock, too close and not at all close enough. Sherlock shifted his weight causing his cock to brush against John’s thigh. He closed his eyes as a whimper escaped his mouth. John reached up to rub his thumb across Sherlock’s plump lips, he had been dreaming of them since the night before.

“You’re not the only one who can observe, make deductions,” John started. He grasped Sherlock’s hip with his free hand and pulled them together. “I saw how much you wanted me last night, how hard you got sucking me. Tell me, Sherlock, did you touch yourself when you got home last night?”

Sherlock shook his head as John continued to grind their hips together; he let out a little moan each time their cocks rubbed against each other.

“I’m going to take your mouth again and this time I’m going to let you come. Do you want that? To come with my cock shoved down your throat?”

Before Sherlock could respond, John captured Sherlock’s lips with his own. Sherlock tasted of cigarettes and tea. John could feel his own cock harden as his tongue slipped between Sherlock’s lips; he couldn’t wait to feel those lips around him again. He pressed Sherlock into the window and deepened the kiss. Fingers moved to the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt and started undoing them, following his progress with his mouth. When the last button was undone John pushed the shirt off of his shoulders, his eyes drinking in the sight before him. Sherlock’s chest was flushed and heaving, he arched into John’s touch as his fingers found his nipples and rubbed them until they hardened.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he said as he grasped the back of Sherlock’s neck to pull him closer. He sunk his teeth into the pale expanse of his neck, sucking as he marked him. Sherlock moaned, his knees going weak from the pleasure of John’s mouth on his skin and his beard rubbing against his sensitive flesh.

“That’s it, on you knees, gorgeous,” John instructed, pressing down on his shoulders. Sherlock dropped to his knees and began fumbling at John’s belt. A chuckled slipped through John’s lips, “Here let me.”

John moved Sherlock’s hands away and made quick work of his belt and button. His hand paused on his zip as he took in the sight of Sherlock on his knees before him. Shoving his trousers and pants just enough to free his cock, John began to stroke his aching cock. Sherlock watched and wet his lips with his tongue. John rubbed the tip against Sherlock’s mouth before sliding it between Sherlock’s lips, moaning as Sherlock sucked a little, pulling his cock deeper.

Life was continuing through the window on the street below, but John couldn’t think farther than that hot, wet mouth surrounding him. He stilled Sherlock’s efforts and took a deep breath, calming his already racing heart. He felt as if he was sixteen again, ready to explode at the first wet touch of tongue.

“I can’t stop touching this mouth, it’s perfect,” said John, his hand holding Sherlock’s jaw. He rubbed his thumb at the edge of Sherlock’s mouth where it met his cock. A shudder ran through Sherlock’s body, he looked up at John standing above him. Slowly John began to thrust his hip into Sherlock’s mouth, pulling out until just the tip was held between his lips. Sherlock shuffled his knees wider, his body sinking closer to the floor.

Sherlock held John’s hips and relaxed his jaw to allow John to fully invade his mouth. The unspoken invitation to fuck into Sherlock’s mouth did not go unnoticed. John gripped the side of the window and tipped up onto his toes. As John’s thrusts deepened Sherlock began rock his hips, seeking what little friction he could against his trousers. He moaned and swallowed around John’s cock, causing John to shove his cock further into his mouth.

“That’s it, baby, take it,” John bit out, his voice wrecked with desire. The only other sounds in the room were Sherlock’s muffled moans and the wet smack of his lips. John griped Sherlock’s hair in one hand; tilting his head back, Sherlock looked up to meet John’s eyes. Tears streamed down his face and mixed with saliva dripping down his chin onto his bare chest.

“Fuck yes, I want you to come just like this, gagging on my cock,” John grunted out as he shoved his cock even deeper into Sherlock’s open mouth. Sherlock choked, his throat spasming against John’s cock. John held Sherlock’s head still, nose pressed his skin. Panic flashed across Sherlock’s eyes as John pinned him against the window with his cock fully surrounded by Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock loosened his grip and began to tap against John’s hip, hoping John wasn’t too far gone and would notice. John pulled out slightly to allow Sherlock a deep breath before burying his cock deep again.

With each small thrust Sherlock gagged and struggled to breathe. He swallowed around the head of John’s cock as it hit the back of his throat. John knew he was close, he was actually surprised he had lasted this long. He relaxed his grip on Sherlock’s hair and began to stroke his pale throat as he lost himself in his building orgasm.

Sherlock felt John’s cock swell and swirled his tongue around the head as best he could. A burst of come hit his tongue and he pressed his face as close to John as he could, wanting to swallow every drop. The taste of John’s come had Sherlock rocking his hips faster, he slipped one hand down to press against his aching cock. His body rocked as he started to come in his pants.

The muffled grunts coming from Sherlock pushed John’s need for more, to mark this man as his. Sherlock let out a strangled cry as John pulled his cock free and began pump his cock, his come painting Sherlock’s face.

John lightly stroked his cock a few more times and rubbed the tip against Sherlock’s closed mouth. He let out a content sigh. Sex hadn’t felt like this for John in a long time, maybe since before Afghanistan. It had been a means to an end, a release of built up tension. This was different, he wanted to bask in the afterglow, as silly as it sounded to say even to himself.

Sherlock hadn’t moved from where he was kneeling on the floor, his face still turned up towards John, eyes closed. John drank in the sight, then quickly pulled up his pants and trousers.

“Hey, I’ll be back in a tick,” he said as he slowly ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair before turning to the door that led to a bathroom. He came back to find Sherlock slumped against the wall, face still covered in his come. He knelt down beside him and gently began to clean the mess off of the sharp cheekbones and swollen lips that he had become fond of so quickly. Sherlock let out a small content sigh and opened his eyes to watch John. A small smile played on his lips.

“Let’s move to the couch, yeah?” John stood and held out his hand. Sherlock stood but paused instead of following John across the short distance to the couch.

“I just need to . . .” he started and gestured to his trousers and inclined his head to the door that John had just come through.

“Oh yes, of course. There’s a full bath, if you’d like. And a dressing gown on the back of the door.” John stopped abruptly speaking, realizing he was babbling. He smiled at Sherlock, still standing by the window. “Take your time, I’ll call for some tea.”

John slumped back into the couch as Sherlock went through the door. His mind was at war with his heart. He had known this man for little more than twelve hours and he was ready to change everything to fit him into this mad life he had made for himself. Yet John had always trusted his instincts, and right now they were saying that he needed to keep Sherlock close.

First he needed to inform Morstan of the new developments. She wasn’t going to be happy but that was her job to deal with them. He sent a text with the highlights of Sherlock’s revelation about Wilkes and suggested meeting after she performed her inquiries. This new information didn’t change anything yet. It would hold for a day or two, and right now he wanted to focus on Sherlock.

He had skipped lunch, his appetite had been nonexistent as he waited for Sherlock to arrive earlier, so he asked for a plate of sandwiches in addition to the tea. Sherlock looked like he could use a meal or two.

John looked up from the fire he was building up as the door opened. He stood when Sherlock failed to appear through the doorway.

“Sherlock? Are you ok?”

“Promise me you won't laugh?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course not, what is —”

John was cut off by the sight of Sherlock walking into the study. His hair was a wild mess of curls, frizzing slightly from the lack of product; the dressing gown he put on barely brushed his wrists and while it fell mid-calf when John wore it, on Sherlock’s tall thin frame it skimmed his boney knees, and it was wrapped almost twice around his body. John bit back a smile and reached his arms out, Sherlock took one hand and let himself be led to the sofa.

“Sit, I started a fire and tea should be up shortly.”

John sat next to Sherlock and pulled him into his side. He was more certain of his decision now that he had Sherlock in his arms. This time would be different. He would be more carful, take more precautions. The past did not have to repeat itself.

They sat cuddled together, neither wanting to break the comfortable silence, until there was a soft knock on the door. Sherlock nuzzled deeper into John’s neck.

“One moment,” he called to the door. He turned to Sherlock’s ear a whispered, “That’ll be the tea. You stay here and I’ll grab it, yeah?”

John collected the tray and settled it on the table in front of the sofa. He poured out two cups of tea and took his spot next to Sherlock again.

“I had some sandwiches made, I thought you might be hungry. You look as if you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks. ”

That statement was met with a roll of the eyes, but Sherlock reached down and took half a sandwich while John stirred milk into his tea. For the first time since leaving London for the army John was unsure about how to approach a situation. He wanted to tie Sherlock to his bed and never let him out of his sight, though that would not end well for either of them.

“Out with it. You think very loud, you know,” Sherlock clipped. John set his cup down and turned toward Sherlock.

“Sherlock,” he started, then cleared his throat. Sherlock sat quietly, waiting for John to say what he had no doubt already deduced.

“Sherlock, I have a proposition of sorts. Well, that makes it sound a bit, ah, I haven’t done this in a while,” he paused and ran his hand over his face. Sherlock watched as he took a deep breath and steeled himself to attempt his request again. “I’d like to ask you to accompany me to a fundraiser I have to attend this weekend. It’s bound to be boring and I have to kiss the ass of some very annoying people, but I’d like you to come. It could be fun, you could deduce the dirty secrets of all the rich bastards there.”

“So, you’d like me to come and deduce people for you?” questioned Sherlock. He had begun to pull slightly away from John.

“Yes . . . NO! No, that’s not why I want you to come. Look, I’m bollixing this up, aren’t I? I like you, Sherlock, and I don’t like many people. I’d like to take you out, and this stupid gala is just an excuse. What I’d really like is for you to just move in —” John snapped his mouth shut. He did not know what was going on, his control was completely gone around this man.

“I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end,” Sherlock said, his hand reaching over grab John’s hand. “Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.”

John looked down at their hands, and then back up at the madman grinning at him through his frizzy fringe. A giggle escaped John’s lips and he pressed his fist to mouth. This was absolutely mad: he had just met this man and here they were walking about moving in!

“Just like that? We’ve only just met and you’re going to move in? We don’t even know each other!”

As much as John wanted this, he wanted Sherlock to make the decision for himself. This wasn’t about taking what he could.

“Problem?”

“No, god help me, I don’t think it is. Ok then, I guess that’s settled.”

John smiled and brought their entwined hands to his lips.


	4. Break In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt from my outline for Kingpin
> 
> Chapter 4: Transition to buttsex. Gentle fuck on the sofa? Buttplug definitely
> 
> Can you guess what this chapter will be about??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I'm so glad to be getting this out into the world ;) Enjoy, comment, kudos, share with friends, and in the words of my dearest friend, hannahrieu, write porn or die!

The door swung open and Morstan barged into John’s office with Davis and his apologies on her heels. 

“What’s this about the gala, then, John? I honestly don’t think that now is the time to come out of the closet, with an addict no less!” 

With the weekend and the gala approaching John knew he couldn’t put off meeting with Morstan any longer. Everything had happened so fast John felt as if he head was spinning, however that didn’t mean that he could ignore his work. Mary had always hoped for more than a working relationship; the tabloids speculations weren’t completely without merit. John had never minded people drawing their own conclusions about them because it took the focus off what was really going on. Now that Sherlock was in the picture John was going to have to straighten things out with Mary.

“Thank you, Davis, that will be all, shut the door on the way out. Mary, sit.” John bit out; he wouldn’t be bullied in his own office. “I don’t pay you for your opinions on my personal life.” 

“You bloody well will listen to them when they impact our business!”

John sat back in his chair and chuckled darkly, his fingers scratching his jaw through his thick beard. It always amused him when people underestimated him. How easily people could forget his ruthlessness when it came to his business. He only hoped that Morstan would realize her mistake before it was too late.

“My business. The empire that I created after that old fool got arrested. You may be my right hand, but none of this is yours, and you should well remember how easily your shoes can be filled. Sherlock is my business, too. And you can pass that message along to anyone who is letting their curiosity get in place of their sense.”

Morstan sat straighter in her seat and wisely kept her mouth shut. John hoped that Mary would be able to move past this without having to revisit the topic. They turned their attention to the Wilkes issue, bearing in mind the new information from Sherlock. It would be business as usual to keep Wilkes complacent until a move was made on the part of the mysterious Mr. M. And keeping Wilkes around would give them ample opportunity to watch him.

Again, the door to John’s study opened suddenly as they were finishing their discussion and Sherlock entered the room mid-sentence.

“… so I thought that this jacket would be fine for Saturday night, don’t you —“ he abruptly stopped speaking and straightened to his full height, a mask falling over his face when he noticed that John was not alone in the office. 

“Do you just carry on talking when I’m not in the room?” John asked with a grin. He walked over to Sherlock and gently smoothed down the lapel of his jacket. “You’re all finished up with Andrew then? Good.” John turned back to Mary at Sherlock’s small nod. “Sherlock, this is Mary Morstan, my number two. She’ll be keeping an eye on the situation with Wilkes and his ‘Mr. M’.”

Mary greeted Sherlock while gathering up her things, eager to be out of the room; the two men had no desire to keep her company either. She quickly left the office as her business with John was finished. 

“Now, catch me up on the conversation you had with me while you were picking out your clothes,” John said nuzzling into the delicious length of Sherlock’s neck as soon as the door shut again. The past few days saw more of Sherlock’s things making their way from his flat to John’s home. Most took up residence in a guest suite that John had prepared for Sherlock. He hoped Sherlock would choose to spend his nights warming John’s bed, but knew that the younger man would appreciate his own space. 

“I didn’t know that you were in a meeting, John,” Sherlock said, a faint blush tinging his cheeks. Though it had only been short time since they met, John knew that Sherlock was not one to apologize for anything, especially something so minor. He gently pushed against Sherlock’s chest, backing him against the door as he continued his exploration of the pale flesh before him with his mouth. His fingers slipped the top few buttons open on Sherlock’s chest to expose more to his ministrations. 

“If there is one thing that I know about you, Sherlock Holmes, it’s that you do not apologize. Ever. Now why would you feel the need to blush so sweetly for walking into a room that I have given you express permission to be in? Hm? What was on your brilliant, filthy mind as you came in just now?” 

Sherlock had begun his own exploration of John’s body as the he questioned him. His thighs parting to give room to John’s strong thigh, and something for him to grind against. A particularly forceful jerk of John’s hips knocked Sherlock’s back against the door, eliciting a gasp from him. Sherlock’s blush deepened as John’s hands dipped from their resting place on Sherlock’s hips to the sweet swell of his ass. 

He smiled against Sherlock’s lips, “Mm, a bit sore from last night, baby? Or maybe something else?” John questioned as his fingers found the curved edge of something in the seat of Sherlock’s trousers. His eyes darkened as he realized just what exactly Sherlock had come down to show him after his fitting upstairs. 

A growl tore through John’s chest as he quickly locked the door they were leaning against. He pulled back from Sherlock, just enough to get his hands between them to undress them both. With one hand he shoved his own trousers down to his knees, not bothering to remove his shoes, and spun Sherlock around to see the gift nestled between his luscious cheeks. 

“Insatiable little slut, aren’t you? Did I not fill you enough last night that you needed to take matters into your own hands?” John began to gently rotate and rock the butt plug as he spoke. Each random movement caused Sherlock to moan and press back against John. Several moments passed before John abruptly pulled the plug from Sherlock and tossed it to the floor. Sherlock let out a small cry at the loss, his knees going out beneath him. John swept Sherlock up and walked the few steps to the sofa and gently deposited Sherlock on the seat.

“Let’s say we break in this sofa, shall we?” John asked as he lowered his body between Sherlock’s spread legs. 

“Yes, we wouldn’t want anyone else to deduce that no one has been shagged on the sofa in your office,” Sherlock replied drily. John pulled Sherlock into a deep kiss, wanting to savor him, knowing how easily it was to fall into a frenzy of passion with this man. 

Sherlock pulled his bony knees up against his chest to allow John to slowly fill him completely with his cock. He moaned again at the sudden fullness as John simply pressed against him. Sherlock pulsed around John’s length. Gently John began to move his hips, enjoying the wet slide of their flesh. He slid a hand between them and grasped Sherlock’s leaking cock, languidly stroking Sherlock, reveling in each ripple of pleasure he drew from the man beneath him.

John wondered at how Sherlock was able to lose himself to John’s touch. All of the energy he put into his observations and deductions were diverted to indulging the pure decadent pleasure they shared. He swallowed each moan and gasp from Sherlock’s lips with his own.

Knowing he was close to coming, John grasped Sherlock tighter in his hand and snapped his hips faster. He leaned down to Sherlock’s ear and gently sucked on his lobe.

“Is this what you needed, Sherlock? My cock deep in you, filling you up,” he whispered, his own breath ragged.

“Oh, oh John! John!” Sherlock cried. He came suddenly, spurting hotly between their bodies. John grunted and came deep in Sherlock and sank his teeth into his shoulder. They stayed entwined as they caught their breath on the sofa. 

Eventually John leaned back pulled out slowly, his eyes focused on Sherlock’s pink hole. Come dripped out and John quickly caught it up with his two fingers and pushed it back into Sherlock’s body. 

“You’re mine,” he growled.

“Yours,” Sherlock sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out jesseandalexandria's fic My, My, My (will link when I have time to figure out how to make it happen). She is brilliant and wrote a little something for the Kingpin 'verse


	5. The Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I knew you would look delicious in those pants. Maybe I’ll have you come in them … then all night long you’ll think of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long to post. This fic is turning into a collaboration with Jess so we are having to do a bit of work getting in the new plot. I decided to go ahead and post this little car scene that I had finished. The next chapter will see some actual plot (gasp!) and our favorite Kingsman!
> 
> Please forgive the crack

The car was waiting at the front door when John and Sherlock walked out of the house; John in traditional black tie, Sherlock sporting a charcoal grey suit with an obscenely tight white button down shirt. John sat opposite of Sherlock and poured himself a glass of chilled champagne as the car pulled out from the curb. Sherlock held himself completely still as John sipped his champagne, his gaze focused completely on Sherlock. 

“Take off your trousers.” 

“Now?” Sherlock hesitated, unsure why John was asking this of him.

“It will take us 20 minutes to get to the hotel and you’re going to come before we arrive. Just the trousers, leave your pants,” he instructed.

Sherlock hurried to unfasten his trousers and slide them down his slim hips. He gently set them over the head rest to keep them from wrinkling. John leaned forward to hand Sherlock his glass, he traced a finger down Sherlock’s thigh.

“I knew you would look delicious in those pants. Maybe I’ll have you come in them … then all night long you’ll think of me.” 

A shiver ran through Sherlock’s body as John’s finger slid back up and nudged against his now hard cock. He gulped down the rest of the champagne and set the glass down, his hands now free to touch John. Sherlock dropped to his knees and started to push John’s jacket off his shoulders. John grabbed his wrists and pushed them to Sherlock’s sides.

“No, tonight you may undress me, but right now I want to watch.” 

He lowered his head and kissed Sherlock, his tongue invaded Sherlock’s mouth, lapping into it. Sherlock pressed into John, seeking more contact with him. John pulled back and reached for the bottle again.

“Go on then, give me a show. Let me see how brilliant you can be for me.” Sherlock blushed and palmed himself through his pants. His head dropped back against the seat as he started to roll his hips to the music in the car. The softly thumping beat was the only sound other than Sherlock’s deep exhales. He slowly began to move more of his body, hands roaming the hard planes of his torso. 

“Take your shirt off now.” 

Inch by inch more skin was exposed, begging to be touched. John gave in as the last button slipped through it’s hole and reached forward to twist Sherlock’s nipples causing him to shout out. 

“That’s it. Give me your hand.” John took the outstretched hand in his and brought it to his mouth. He licked it from finger tip to wrist, wetting it completely. “Now stroke yourself. Leave the pants on.” 

Sherlock bit off a moan as his hand slipped under the silk pants. 

“Let me hear you, baby,” his voice was rough with desire. Sherlock continued his ministrations, a little gasp coming each time he tugged his foreskin up over the head of his cock. 

“Now slide the pants down, just to your knees.” 

Sherlock obeyed without thought. Having John’s complete attention focused on him heightened his own pleasure. He continued to slowly pump his cock in and out of his fist with his thighs spread as wide as the fabric allowed while John looked on, glass in hand. Sherlock writhed on the seat, his pleasure mounting but the touch of his own hand was not enough. The flash of his lil’ pink bootyhole when he pulled his knees up was too much for John to resist. He dropped to down to the floor of the car and maneuvered Sherlock onto his knees, facing the back of the car.

John dove in face first, eating that sweet ass before Sherlock could blink. Sherlock pressed back onto John’s tongue, desperate for more. He was overwhelmed by the new sensations: John’s tongue delving deep into his core, his beard rough on his cheeks. A shout escaped his lips when John’s hand reached around and started firmly stroking his cock, Sherlock had all but forgotten about his erection. John was relentless, not giving Sherlock a moment to adjust to the sensations. 

Before Sherlock was even aware of his impending orgasm, John tightened his grip and ran his fist over the wet tip of his cock. With a shout, Sherlock spilled over John’s fist and onto the leather of the seats. John worked Sherlock through the orgasm, his tongue never leaving it’s place in Sherlock’s hole. 

“Stop! John, please —“ he bit out, trying to escape the overwhelming sensations. He was trapped between John’s fist and his tongue, both slowly sliding against his most sensitive flesh. John only moaned in response and pushed his tongue deeper. He held it there for a moment, then retreated and began gently lapping at the twitching flesh. Sherlock’s body shook, the pleasure becoming too much. “Please stop,” he whispered again, his head buried in the seat of the car.

Finally John stilled his hand and sat back on his heels. He ran he free hand down Sherlock’s back, pulling his shirt off of his arms. Never before had John felt the need to possess another human so fully. He wanted each moment of pleasure and pain that Sherlock felt to come from him alone.

“No, darling, I don’t think so. You are so good for me, coming so quickly. I think I’d like to make you come again. I know we’re almost there, but you can do it, can’t you, baby? You can come for me once more,” he said, resuming the slow stroke of Sherlock’s cock. He spit on his fingers and rubbed them on Sherlock’s swollen center before completely pushing two into him. John cursed the fact that he hadn’t thought to bring the plug along. The thought of fucking Sherlock and then keeping him full of his come while they were out in public was almost enough to make him come in his pants. He satisfied himself with the knowledge that he would be buried deep in Sherlock later that night as he kept pumping his hand in and out of Sherlock’s loosened hole. 

John sucked dark bruises along Sherlock’s shoulder as his whimpers turned back into moans of pleasure. He was lost in the pleasure of fucking forward into John’s hand without removing the now three fingers in his ass. Before John his body had just been transport; now he was addicted to each new sexual pleasure John gave him. 

“Sir,” Davis interrupted from the front of the car as the partition lowered. Sherlock froze and let out a small whine as John continued to stroke him with both hands. “Five minutes out.”

“Well, Sherlock, what’s it going to be? You heard him, five minutes. You’re getting out of the car whether you come or not.”

Sherlock dropped his head against the seat, his body still but for the slight tremors of pleasure running through him. John stilled his hands as he waited for a reply. Not that he would ever share Sherlock with anyone, but after the show at the club John had a feeling Sherlock wouldn’t mind a bit of an audience.

“I can do it, I can,” Sherlock panted. He started fucking into John’s loose fist, chasing his second orgasm. John chuckled at Sherlock’s determination and began stroking his fingers deep inside Sherlock, each pass of his fingers hitting Sherlock’s prostate. 

“That’s it, baby, show him how good you are for me,” he breathed into Sherlock’s neck.

The car began to slow as it approached the hotel and joined the line of cars dropping the guests off. Sherlock quickened his pace, grunting each time John’s hand rammed into his sensitive hole.

“Sir,” Davis repeated. The reminder of his presence was enough to tip Sherlock over the edge and he came clenching around John’s fingers. John ran his nose along Sherlock’s neck and breathed him in as they both caught their breath. 

“So good for me, so good,” he murmured. Slowly John pulled out of Sherlock, grabbed a pack of wet wipes and began to clean them both up. Sherlock took over and finished cleaning himself and putting his clothes back on. His cheeks still were a deep red and his hair had a glorious just fucked look about it, but John knew that he would be the most stunning of all of the guests in attendance. 

The car finally crawled to the front door and came to a complete stop. John stepped out of the opened door and reached in for Sherlock’s hand to help him out of the car. Several cameras flashed as Sherlock stood next to John, his arm going around Sherlock's slim waist. While John would normally ignore the cameras taking photographs for the local gossip column, this evening he paused and wanting to show off the delicious piece of ass that was all his.

“Let’s go in, shall we?”


	6. The Gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at the gala they do a bit of drinking and schmoozing.  
> John and Sherlock go official (!).  
> Sherlock makes a friend (?!).  
> But not all of the guests are welcome company... (queue dramatic music!!!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's entirely my fault you've all waited so long for an update, and I'm truly sorry!  
> Especially to Banimalq who has patiently waited for me to finish this chapter like the considerate and generous saint she is.  
> B, I love you and I'm sorry.
> 
> Also, this chapter was supposed to be funny, slutty, and a fun teaser for future stories in this AU... in that order!  
> But this being me, it turned out to be feels, angst, more feels, more angst, and an uh-oh!... in that order!
> 
> So any hate-mail you wish to comment here please address it to Jess so that our dearest B doesn't suffer for my sins.  
> (Even though we're all going to hell anyway right?)
> 
> If you do like it however, make sure to kudos and comment your love.  
> We totally squee for that shit. ;)
> 
> Enjoy  
> XXX  
> Jess

  
  


 

Walking up the steps hand in hand with Sherlock, John could only just suppress a self-satisfied smirk as reporters from news channels, papers, tabloids and gossip blogs all shouted over one another for answers as to the identity of his companion.

"Who is this young man with you tonight Mr. Watson?"  
"Where is Mary Morstan?"  
"How did you meet?"  
"How long have you been seeing each other?"  
And of course, because there was at least one shameless knob in every journo-bunch, "Is this your official coming out?!"  
John simply ignored the noise and led Sherlock through the blinding flashes of the cameras.

Just inside the entrance he turned to his lover and was surprised to see Sherlock looking even more ruffled than he'd been when they'd gotten out of the car.  
"Alright love?" John asked with a teasing smile though he was genuinely a bit worried that the sea of paparazzi might have been too much for the younger man.  
"Finewhydoyouask?" Sherlock answered automatically, barely pronouncing each word on it's own.  
He was clearly trying not to make a big deal out of it, but the fact was he was in a bit of a shock.

John didn't even try to stop the fond (slightly besotted) smile spreading across his face now.  
He reached for the front of Sherlock's suit jacket and pulled the younger man towards him for a closer look.  
"It's just noise baby." He reassured gently while straightening Sherlock's collar and adjusting two buttons on his shirt that had been hastily pushed through the wrong holes.  
"It's a lot. And  _loud,_ but it's all just noise."  
He reached up to try and rearrange some of the younger man's riotous curls into something less wild.

"Hmm?" he encouraged, biting his lip and placing is hands on either side of Sherlock's face, checking to see if he'd been successful in calming the younger man.   
Sherlock's eyes were still wide and his gaze a bit distant before he blinked down at John and nodded solemnly.  
"Good boy." John praised. He reached up for a quick kiss before turning around towards the main hall with Sherlock's arm in his.

"Now I need you to do something for me." John said in a low voice as they neared the doors to where the gala was being held.  
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sherlock's head snap in his direction and he was filled with pride at the younger man's eagerness to please him.  
"I've made sure Wilkes was invited here tonight." He began.  
"Assured him that Morstan hadn't found anything out of line from her inquiry into his division, that I'd never truly suspected he was stealing from me, but that I've gotten word from a reliable source that someone from my legit political and financial contacts has been doing business behind my back with one of my competitors and that they might be doing so here tonight. Then I told him that because he's got connections in the upper classes and his family is from money he'd serve best as my extra set of eyes and ears." John explained. "I want you to watch him throughout the evening. See if he talks or meets with  _anyone_  who seems suspicious to you in any way. You can do that for me can't you baby?"  
"Of-course John." Sherlock answered dutifully.

"And I want you to remember Sherlock." John stopped in his tracks and grabbed Sherlock by his upper arm.  
His voice was dark and possessive but his grip on the younger man remained gentle. "You are  _mine_." John demanded. "He can't touch you, or harm you in any way.  _No one can_."  
He reached with his other hand to lift Sherlock's chin and look him in the eyes. "Understood?" He asked quietly.  
"Understood John." Sherlock whispered, breathless at the surprising warmth of John's gaze on him.  
John answered with a fond smile and held his head high as they walked into the main hall.

Sherlock's stomach churned with guilt when he thought of how he had already failed John so miserably. Something that could very well be revealed throughout the evening.  
Sherlock knew this. Had been dreading it. But he was too afraid to tell John the truth.  
Afraid that if John knew he would decide Sherlock wasn't worth the trouble.  
Or worse, that Sherlock was worth very much and use him as a bargaining chip.  
Because if you were a wealthy and socially revered philanthropist doubling as a powerful crime lord, one inevitable opponent or at the very least obstacle that you would come across in either one or both of those lives, was Mycroft Holmes.  
And Sherlock just so happened to forgo mentioning that said  _Mycroft Holmes_  was the same big bro he was so reluctant to ask for help and ended up in Wilkes's pocket and subsequently in John's bed.

As they entered the hall Sherlock immediately started to scan the crowd both for Wilkes and Mycroft, trying to calm his ever frantic heartbeat. He hadn't thought this through.  
What if Mycroft walked right up to John and told him everything? What if Mycroft simply vanished him away? He'd done it before when he didn't see the use in talking Sherlock into complying with him and instead just took him by force. What if he threatened John? What if he exposed him and got him arrested?  
Sherlock needed to find his brother and think up a plan as quickly as possible.  
Stupid. He was so damn stupid to think he could just allow himself to be obliviously happy for once without messing it up.

"Oh and," John commented apropos of nothing as a server approached them with a pre-arranged tumbler of whiskey and glass of champagne.  
He handed the champagne to Sherlock taking the whiskey for himself. "Your brother should be here later tonight, in 'bout an hour or so."  
He took a long sip and looked at Sherlock expectantly and a tad admonishing.  
"John I..." Sherlock felt his mouth and throat go dry in an instant. Shit. Shit. Fuckfuck _fuck!_  
  
"When I said I'd looked you up, you didn't think that I'd meant a simple google search and checking out your website did you?" John teased.  
His gaze was reproachful but there was humor in his tone and Sherlock managed to swallow and breathe properly.  
"John, I," Sherlock swallowed again."I'm sorry," he pleaded guiltily.  
"Oh you will be tonight. I can promise you that baby." John assured him ominously, his eyes darkening. "I have a few fun ideas about how you can make it up to me."  
His hand which had rested at Sherlock's lower back after handing him the champagne glided over the younger man's arse for just a moment.  
A tease that barely held any physical significance, more passing warmth than actual touch and was all the more inciting for it. Sherlock could only just suppress the delightful shiver that ran through him at the jolt of instant arousal it caused.  
He bit down on his bottom lip to hold back a gasp and watched John eyeing the gesture, subconsciously swiping his tongue over his own lip as he did so.

"Mycroft fucking Holmes." John said with a resigned sigh. "Bloody  _Christ,_  but you are handful," he ended with a surprisingly enthusiastic smile.  
He drained the rest of his drink and gracefully set it on the tray of a passing server not taking his eyes off of Sherlock's.

"C'mon then," he said reclaiming Sherlock's arm and turning towards the nearest group of guests "We've got backs to scratch, favors to collect, and people to deduce".

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

They spent the next hour or so moving around the gala engaging in conversation with all manner of London's elite society. Politicians, corporate company CEOs, architects, surgeons, bankers, judges and their wives. Whether they were born with a silver spoon or had worked hard to obtain it, their wealth made above board or not, all treated John with awe. In some cases leaning towards admiration while in others toward fear, but all gave him the utmost respect and regarded Sherlock with only a subtle curiosity.

  
No one commented on is youth or his sudden appearance at John's side. No one sneered at his rumpled suit, his wild hair, or his swollen lips. No one hinted that he didn't belong among the rich and powerful instead of in the gutter, and Sherlock felt the need to make certain it remain that way.  
His back straight, standing tall in confidence as John introduced him every time with a simple  _"This is Sherlock Holmes"_. As though he had previously bragged to these people about Sherlock and was finally gifting them with a chance to see him for themselves.  
As though he was not only to be permitted into their circle but an obviously important part of it they hadn't even known they were missing.

Sherlock drew from years worth of experience obtained by being forced to attend dinner parties hosted by his parents, and adopted both the crisp speech and impeccable manners that his mother had always tried to instill in him (unsuccessfully, to her endless frustration)  
And though he was able to easily deduce each of the people he and John spoke with, he refrained from commenting on it aloud.  
He spoke instead about science and art and history, gave his opinion on the current political climate and favourite holiday destinations, recommended books and music, and even listened intently to talk of hunting and dog breeding.  
They were an awful bore, the lot of them. He could recall clearly why he had done everything to avoid such gatherings in his youth.  
But whispering his deductions to John when no one noticed, seeing the pride shine in his eyes and hearing the amused giggles the older man tried to suppress made it all worthwhile.

As they were nearing the end of their second hour at the gala Sherlock's attention wandered from the conversations with other guests and his deductions were fewer and far between. He still saw no sign of either Wilkes or his brother and was steadily growing anxious.  
"What is it baby?" John inquired after excusing the two of them from the group of guests they had been chatting with.  
"I can't find him." Sherlock explained. "Either of them."  
His uneasiness turning into frustration at not being able to fix a problem when the problem had yet to present itself.  
He wished they could just leave. Go back to John's flat and forget about Wilkes and Mycroft and the world.

John held his hand and discreetly rubbed his thumb over Sherlock's inner wrist in soothing circles.  
"Don't worry, they'll show." John assured him. "And when they do we'll deal with whatever they throw at us. Together. Hmm?"  
John smiled at Sherlock when after a few moments he could feel the younger man's pulse slow. "I'm sure they'll be here soon."  
A woman's laughter rang out from a group of people close by, shrill and elated.  
John turned his head curiously towards the sound and an amused smile spread across his face.  
"In fact, seems at least one of them is already here." He informed Sherlock and in reply to the younger man's questioning look he took his hand and led him towards the continuing laughter.

The group they came to was made up almost entirely of women most of which were well past middle-age and one young man.  
With his back to them Sherlock couldn't see his face, though it was clear he was the sole focus of their attention and was in the midst of relaying an apparently very entertaining story complete with wide enthusiastic hand gestures.  
"Then what did you do?" Asked one of the women, a finely manicured hand clutching her chest in suspense.  
"Well I could'n just leave her there now could I?" The young man answered. "Tucked her in my jacket, poor thing was shakin' like a leaf."  
The women all cooed at him like overstuffed pigeons with hearts in their eyes.  
"I got a mate who's an apprentice at a vet's, so went 'round to his and got her checked out. He put her up with a nice family over in East Finchley. She'll be taken care of." The young man nodded thoughtfully as the older women applauded his valor.

"Not the puppy story again is it?" John asked mockingly but it was clear the remark was good-natured in the way he smiled when the younger man turned at hearing his voice, and the warmth in his eyes when reaching out to shake his hand.  
"Mr. Watson!" The younger man exclaimed happily, though he was quick to rein in his enthusiasm when he caught sight of Sherlock arm in arm with John adding a polite "Sir."  
Excusing himself from his flock of fans the young man turned his full attention to them with a cocky grin and whispered conspiratorially . "I'll have you know that puppy story has gotten me through some right spots it has, works like a charm every time." He smiled enthusiastically at John, his gaze almost worshiping the older man. "Didn't know you'd be here."

He then turned to Sherlock, his eyes raking over him from shoes to curls and not bothering to be the least bit subtle about it.  
One brow raising in both inquiry and invitation when Sherlock retaliated with his own quick yet thorough examination.

He was handsome. Both boyish and masculine simultaneously, soft in some places while hard in others.  
Sherlock could tell that underneath his suit there were wiry muscled arms, a toned abdomen, thick thighs and a very luscious bottom.  
His eyes were bright and his dimpled smile almost infectious.  
He was the embodiment of a fantasy boy-toy for any man or woman with even the least bit amount of taste, and not for the first time that evening Sherlock felt unworthy of his place beside John. 

"Duty calls I'm afraid." John replied as they shook hands then turned and gestured to Sherlock.  
"Eggsy, this is my partner Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Gary Unwin but he prefers to be called Eggsy,  _only he knows why_." John introduced, one hand on either of the younger men's shoulders.  
Eggsy shook Sherlock's hand warmly, his smile genuine. "Evenin' partner." he greeted, his eyes gleaming mischievously.  
Sherlock was still reeling from John's introducing him as his  _partner_  to think up a witty reply let alone speak it aloud.  
Up to that moment he had only implied to others in both tone and behavior that they were an item, but this was the first he had explicitly declared it.  
"Uh-uh." John tutted, wagging his finger at Eggsy. "I said he was  _my_ partner not yours, kid." John laughed, then added. "Speaking of which, are you here with Wilkes?"  
In a single moment the mischievous light in Eggsy's eyes went out and his shoulders hunched inward. The difference was minuscule, but Sherlock of course had caught it.

"Duty calls 'm'fraid" Eggsy answered John with his own words, a smile carefully applied to his face but not reaching his eyes.  
"And where might he be any idea?" John inquired, entirely missing the change in the young man's features.  
Eggsy shrugged as though bored with the subject. "Probably doin' a line  _or five_  in the gent's" he answered. It was clear the idea made him uneasy.  
His jaw tightened, and seeming to steel himself he asked. "Should I go get him for ya, boss?".  
And it all clicked into place in Sherlock's head.

"No, that's alright." John shook his head. "I'll deal with him when I see him. Do you know if he's met with anyone or done any business so far tonight?" He asked as he accepted a fresh whiskey from one of the servers. Eggsy shook his head slowly trying to recall anything of note.  
"Nothin' since he was on the phone wiv ya before we got here." Eggsy stated and John froze with his drink raised to is lips.  
He lowered his tumbler and inclined his head towards Eggsy, his voice low but his tone icy. "When was this?"

Eggsy's mouth hung open for a moment in confusion, then realizing his words meant more than he had understood he promptly went on to explain.  
"In the car on the way. He was on the phone when he picked me up, spent the whole time talkin'. Was sure it was you cuz he kept callin' whoever it was  _Sir_. An' he don't usually dish out labels like that unless he knows who's in charge ya get me?"   
Eggsy's eyes bounced back and forth between Sherlock and John, his uneasiness growing.  
"Did you hear what they were discussing? Did he mention any place or person specifically?" Sherlock questioned.  
The younger man shook his head in reply. He looked up at John in dismay.  
"I-I dunno, 'm so sorry boss. Honest." And it was clear he genuinely was.  
He seemed not to be afraid of the possibility of John's scorn but rather  _ashamed_  of it. And that, more than anything was what won Sherlock over.

"You're a gymnast." Sherlock stated simply. Both men turning to him in surprise at the sudden change in subject.  
"Or were rather, but it's been years since your training hasn't it?"  
Eggsy appeared taken aback at Sherlock's revelation, his mouth hanging open again in stunned confusion. "Wha-? How did you kno-".  
"The calluses on your hands are evidence of years of regular training on various types of beams and bars. They are however faded enough to suggest it has been quite sometime since you've practiced on a daily basis. I'd say four years at least, though six is more likely. That would place you at fourteen or so correct?" Sherlock asked without waiting for a reply.  
"Is that when your step-father stopped you from going?" He chose this moment to pause for an answer.  
Eggsy's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. His eyes wide and his face pale as he shook his head. "I quit." He confessed quietly.  
"But you wouldn't have, if your uniform covered your bruises well enough not to raise any concern from your coach. Or there hadn't been any bruises needing to be covered up in the first place, would you?" Sherlock argued.  
He was aware of John's entire body tensing beside him. Hit the nail right on the head.  
"How did you-?" Eggsy started to ask but Sherlock cut him off again.  
"And how old were you when he started to rent you out to his customers?"

Eggsy's face turned completely ashen and John's hand tightened reflexively on Sherlock's arm, the tension in his body now turning deadly as he stared at Eggsy in shock and rage. The young man started to stutter shaking his head back and forth. He raised his eyes to peek at John's response to this information, his face quickly going from deathly white to bright red when he witnessed the older man's expression.  
"I-I-I didn't. He- that's not-" He struggled to explain.

"And Wilkes," Sherlock continued. "Your step-father works under his command doesn't he? Is that how he gets you to accompany him to events such as this? What's their arrangement? He gets you for a night or two and in return looks the other way when your step-father samples a little too much product for himself?"  
Eggsy's head now hung low in shame. He kept shaking it slowly back and forth almost unconsciously. "I'm- I'm sorry, I-" he tried to apologize.

"You hate him." Sherlock declared, cutting him off again.  
"Not your step-father, that's fairly obvious, I mean Wilkes. You despise him and the time you must spend with him more than any other of your step-father's customers, whether it's a few hours in a place like this or a night in some cheap rented room. You do however feel loyalty towards John. You admire him for his character and the way he treats you and that makes you hate Wilkes even more because you know he is double-crossing John in some way but you're just not sure how."  
Eggsy now looked up at Sherlock in awe. "How couldya know all that?" He asked breathlessly.  
Sherlock smiled, now having arrived at the final point he meant to make with his deductions. "Would you like to help us catch him and whoever he's working for?"  
A wide grin spread across Eggsy's face at the offer. " _Fuck yeah_."

Both young men stared at each-other, reveling in their mutual loathing of one man and admiration for another. The latter of which suddenly spoke up breaking their moment.

"Baker." John all but growled and both younger men turned to face him. " _Dean_  Baker isn't it?" He looked to Eggsy.  
The young man shook his head, holding his hands up in surrender. "Boss, Dean's not in on whatever Wilkes is doing. He ain't smart enough for Wilkes to get 'im in on nothin' serious. All he knows is how to deal and collect. Uses threats when he needs to and roughs someone up when that don't work, but he's no fuckin' mastermind swear down!" Eggsy pleaded.  
John put his tumbler down on the nearby table and leaned forward to cup the back of the young man's head with one hand while linking his fingers with Sherlock's in the other.  
"Is what Sherlock said true? All of it?" He asked gently.  
Eggsy cast his eyes downward. "My mum-" He started to plead.  
"Don't worry about your mum Eggsy. I'll take care of it. Is it true?" John encouraged.  
Eggsy's jaw tightened as he murmured his affirmation and John nodded. "Right well, you're not going anywhere with Wilkes tonight." O _r ever again_  was implicit in his tone.  
"Why don't you two keep talking. Sherlock can fill you in, meanwhile I've got to make a few calls." John said with a final squeeze to the back of Eggsy's neck and a quick kiss to Sherlock's temple, before turning to reach for his phone and walking away as he quietly began to fire off orders to whoever it was on the other side of the line.

Sherlock and Eggsy turned towards each-other, the younger man's eyes roving over Sherlock with a look that the older man couldn't seem to place.  
"Fanks." Eggsy said suddenly.  
The sentiment caught Sherlock off guard and he simply blinked at the younger man.  
"You don't know me. Don't owe me noffin'." Eggsy explained. "I didn't fink John would be on my side if he found out everythin', or didn't fink he'd give a toss really."  
He seemed to still be in shock at the turn of events.  
"He likes you." Sherlock shrugged as though the very thought didn't terrify him. "Very much in fact. It's quite obvious. John doesn't genuinely like many people and he cares greatly about those he does."  
"All more reason for his new  _partner_  to fuck me over, not help me out." Eggsy suggested suspiciously, digging for something more.  
"Cuz if ya knew all that 'bout me then ya probably also know 'bout me and John..." the younger man added, his eyes boring into Sherlock's.

So that was the cause of his unease. Not used to being helped by anyone, least of all someone who could regard him as competition. Clever boy.  
Sherlock looked straight back at him. "I  _do_  know about you and John." He stated. It was hardly his most difficult deduction.  
"I also know what it's like to be at Sebastian Wilkes's mercy," he added causing Eggsy to raise his brows in surprise.  
"And I know how it feels when those meant to protect you try to control you instead." Sherlock went on bitterly. "Though in my case, unlike yours, their intentions at least had more merit."  
Eggsy just stared at him for a moment longer. "And you like me too don't ya?" He said seeming confused by his own question.  
Sherlock was brought up short, the idea never having crossed his mind until now, but quickly appearing the most logical assumption. Improbable as it was.  
   
"How  _did_  you know all that 'bout me?" Eggsy asked curiously, thankfully changing the subject.  
He appeared to finally have relaxed again. Sherlock's answer either already confirmed or inconsequential to him.   
"I can see it." Sherlock explained, grateful to be able to discuss something more familiar. "In the way someone speaks or acts, what they wear and how. It's simply noticing the details and eliminating the least probable explanation for each before adding up the correct data to form the most obvious conclusion."

"And you can do that wif everyone?" Eggsy asked in awe.  
"YeP." Sherlock answered with a pop of his lips.  
He wasn't sure why he was eager to impress, and not just show off.  
"That. Is.  _Sick_." The younger man declared. "Could ya teach me then?" He asked hopefully.  
"Why not?" Sherlock agreed.

They both looked around for a proper subject for their first trial when Sherlock caught sight of a familiar figure among the crowds. He suddenly had a truly brilliant idea.  
"What? Found someone juicy?" Eggsy asked enthusiastically, mistaking Sherlock's excited smirk.  
"Not quite." Sherlock admitted. "At least not for a lesson in deduction. However I wonder if I could ask you to apply your own set of skills in seduction."  
At Eggsy's intrigued look he continued. "Do you see that man over there? Big nose, thinning ginger hairline, fat belly barely being constrained in that dull three-piece?" He gestured in distaste with a slight lift of his chin.  
"The tall daddy in the gray bespoke who's lookin' at everyone 'round 'im like they're crashin' his orgy?" Eggsy asked intrigued.  
Sherlock turned to him baffled and shuddered unpleasantly at the dreamy look in the other man's eyes. Apparently not all of his and Eggsy's likes and dislikes were mutual.

"I'm going to delete that description from my mind and I ask you to never repeat it again in my presence." Sherlock warned.  
"Who is he?" Eggsy turned to him curiously.  
"My brother." Sherlock begrudgingly confessed. "He may or may not know about me and John. But whether or not he does, he'll do everything to separate us. I need you to distract him as much as you can from both my and John's presence here tonight without being too obvious about what it is you're doing. He's clever. More than you could imagine, but he has some weaknesses."  
At Eggsy's inquiring look Sherlock conceded. "You are  _exactly_  his type. I won't tell you why or how I know this. In fact, I can't seem to be able to delete it from my mind no matter how many times I've tried so I'd rather not bring it up at all."  
"'M on it." Eggsy simply stated.  
He grabbed Sherlock's right hand, curled it into a fist and bumped it with his own before walking off in Mycroft's direction without further ado.  
Sherlock looked down at his own fist then up at Eggsy's receding figure, a reluctant smile spreading across his face. He really  _did_  like Eggsy. How odd.

He watched as Eggsy chatted up one of the women he was telling the puppy story to earlier who happened to be standing close to Mycroft.  
Using wide gestures with his hands while talking he then purposefully-accidentally knocked a flute of champagne out of the woman's hand and into the face of the man to whom Mycroft was listening with evident boredom. The man huffed and sputtered as Eggsy immediately started to apologize.  
For a single moment Mycroft's features betrayed an amused smirk which was instantly composed into a look of polite concern, but just as soon switched to one of utter shock when Eggsy reached for the silk pocket square from Mycroft's jacket (no doubt costing at least a few hundred pounds on its own), and proceeded to wipe up the spilled drink from the other gentleman's face like some over-bearing mother hen.

"I am so sorry mate." Eggsy apologized profusely. "Really it were an accident, swear down." He kept swiping at the other man's face.  
"Thank you, that's-" The other man held up his hands pleading with Eggsy to stop. "That's quite enough. I'll- I'll just go and.... excuse me."  
The gentleman hastily walked away and Eggsy looked after him with look of such genuine remorse that Sherlock would have almost believed it if it weren't for the mischievous glint in his eyes. Eggsy then looked down at the handkerchief in his hand as if just noticing it for the first time and then swerved around to face Mycroft with wide innocent eyes.

"Oh god." Eggsy gasped.  
He looked down again at the ruined material and an  _actual blush_  spread across his cheeks. "Oh my God, sir I-" he stammered.  
"That's alright," Mycroft began, trying not to make a scene but Eggsy cut him off.  
"Sir, I-I'm,  _oh fuck me_  sir I am so sorry. I really am." Eggsy all but begged and it was Mycroft's turn to blush.

Sherlock smirked as his brother cleared his throat, obviously trying to gain his self-control back after Eggsy's  _slip_  had knocked it on its arse.  
"I'll pay to have it cleaned yeah? Or get ya a new one. How much is it?" Eggsy asked though it was obvious he couldn't afford it.  
Sherlock wondered what Eggsny's real reaction would be if he were to find out its price.

"That's not necessary young man, really it's nothing." Mycroft waved indifferently towards the pocket-square in the younger man's hands.  
Eggsy grabbed Mycroft's outstretched hand and shook it, pretending to mistake the dismissive gesture for an introduction.  
"I'm Eggsy, Eggsy Unwin. Well Gary Unwin really but I never liked it. An' everyone's been callin' me Eggsy since I were a babe so I prefer that yeah? So Eggsy. Who're you?" He blurted out charmingly embarrassed, somehow managing to deepen his blush fetchingly.   
"Mycroft Holmes." Mycroft replied automatically, his manners taking over his awkwardness at the situation.  
"Mister 'Olmes," Eggsy asked both hands now holding Mycroft's, his eyes wide and hopeful " _Sir_ , how can I make it up to you?".  
Mycroft stared mutely at Eggsy as though mesmerized.

Sherlock's smirk spread into a downright devious grin. Eggsy was truly brilliant. He seemed to read Mycroft's tells easily and was using them to push every button he could.

"Well well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." A voice whispered suddenly in Sherlock's ear.  
He had bee so preoccupied watching Eggsy with Mycroft he hadn't noticed Wilkes coming up to him.  
"Sebastian," Sherlock greeted the other man while trying to suppress the shudder of utter revulsion at having had him so close. "Pity I can't return the sentiment."

"Well sentiment was never something you had a need for was it Sherlock?" Wilkes replied with an evil grin. "The drugs were always your only friends and you would do anything for them." He looked over Sherlock with a predatory gaze almost longingly before it changed into a sneer of disdain.  
He took a step back then added. "And with you all done up like a proper VIP escort, whoring that fine arse and mouth of yours like the tart you are, I bet you have  _all_  the friends you could ask for."

Sherlock couldn't help the blush he could feel spreading across his cheeks in shame. It only made Wilkes's eyes shine brighter with perverted glee.  
How Sherlock hated this man. How he represented the very people throughout his life who had seen him as an outsider, a freak not worthy of their kindness but had never passed up the opportunity to take advantage of his mind or his body and then tossed him aside when they had gotten all they'd need.  
But that wasn't the case now. This time he had John, this time he wasn't alone.

"And I bet the friends you have are more than you've asked for." Sherlock retaliated causing Wilkes's smile to freeze on his face before crumbling entirely.  
"I don't know what you're talking about Holmes." Wilkes said in a hollow voice, a hint of fear creeping into his gaze.  
"That's usually the case." Sherlock answered blinking innocently, goading him on.  
It felt wonderful to finally be the one with the upper hand.

"What do you mean  _friends_?" Wilkes demanded, starting to panic now.  
"I mean the people who have probably offered you more wealth and power than you know what to do with in return for inside information on your current employer's organization, but are obviously using you when it's clear you are nothing more than a traitorous underling who can't even keep his own addiction to drugs and helpless pretty young things in check long enough not to  _lose_  money let alone make a profit, and will get rid of you as soon as you've given them all you could." Sherlock declared stonily.

Wilkes's face was quickly turning red with rage as he grabbed Sherlock by his lapels and pulled him so they were facing each-other fully.  
"Listen you little shit! You may be Watson's new flavor of the month, but don't for an instant let that make you think that you're special or desirable in any way." Wilkes spat and then smiled cruelly, pulling Sherlock even closer as he continued.  
"He's had an endless string of play-things over the years, and he goes through them faster than you do a few grams of snow. Sooner or later he's going to get tired of that  _attitude_  of your's and then he's going throw you out on your arse, and you'll be crawling back to me on your fucking  _hands and knees_  where you belong." He threatened low in Sherlock's ear.

The sound of someone clearing their throat was heard close by and both men startled.  
"Gentlemen," Mycroft Holmes greeted, his gaze going from one of concern for his brother to one of clear disdain for Wilkes. "I hope I'm not interrupting." He said flat and unrepentant.  
Behind him Eggsy gave Sherlock an apologetic half shrug, shaking his head as if to say  _"I tried!"_.   
Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and shook his head to signify to the younger man not to worry.  
"Not at all." Wilkes exclaimed, with a fake smile. "I don't think we've met before Mister..." He reached out his hand for Mycroft who ignored it and him completely.  
"Mycroft." Sherlock addressed his brother coldly.  
"Sherlock," Mycroft said stonily, ignoring Wilkes's angry stare."A word, if I may."  
"You may not." Sherlock answered impatiently, preparing to walk away. _Where was John?_

"And where the fuck have you been?!" Wilkes suddenly demanded, no longer trying to uphold an ounce of decorum.  
Sherlock's attention snapped back to Wilkes and Eggsy who looked alarmed and wary by the older man's outburst in front of an audience, knowing Wilkes well and clearly realizing it meant nothing good for him.  
"Nowhere, I was waitin' for ya." He pleaded, his defenses back up in full.  
Wilkes pushed past Mycroft and grabbed Eggsy by the back of his neck, "Go wait in the car." He ordered then pushed the younger man away.  
Eggsy gave Sherlock one last terrified look and hurried towards the main entrance.

Sherlock was just about to go after him, or search for John so he could intervene on Eggsy's behalf when Mycroft held him back.  
"I need to talk to you." He insisted, then turned to Wilkes and fixed him with an authoritative glare. "Leave."  
Wilkes literally vibrated with rage. "You're gonna be sorry about this." He growled without specifying which one of them it was directed at, and left.

  
"Don't touch me Mycroft." Sherlock spat ripping his arm from his brother's grasp.  
"Of all the people you let .... _touch you_." Mycroft said, his mouth twisting in distaste. "Surely I am not the worst possibility."  
"On the contrary, you're the most loathsome one that comes to mind." Sherlock replied indifferently, avoiding his brother's gaze and searching the crowds for John.  
"Sebastian Wilkes, and now John Watson?  _Really_ Sherlock?!" Mycroft demanded. "As if it isn't enough to allow that vile weasel power over you again after everything I've done, you become the kept boy of one of the most corrupt and nefarious criminals in all of London!"  
"I am not  _allowing_  Wilkes anything. And John and I are none of your business." Sherlock challenged.

"Actually, brother dear," Mycroft argued. "John Watson is very much  _my_  business. Business I mean to deal with as soon as possible, and I will. Whether it's with you or against you Sherlock, because I will have him behind bars and you safe from harm." He threatened ominously.  
Sherlock shook with rage at the very thought of being separated from John.  
"Get out of my life Mycroft.  _Just leave me alone_."  
He stormed off before his brother could try to stop him again.  
He needed to find John. Needed to make sure he wasn't about to be arrested or kidnapped by Mycroft's people. He had to warn him.

He had been wrong to let Wilkes know that he was aware of his betrayal. Wilkes would correctly assume that John was aware of it as well and warn whoever it was he had been working for, ruining John's chance to catch them by surprise. What a fool he'd been to let Wilkes provoke him!  
He had tried to come out on top and succeeded in nothing more than angering a man who was in the perfect position to cause harm to John.  
And Eggsy! He would now no doubt be victim to Wilkes's ire and was probably already suffering for Shelock's behavior.  
Was there a chance they hadn't left yet? At least he could help the younger man get away.  _Where was John???_  
  
Looking around frantically Sherlock couldn't see him anywhere. Perhaps he'd gone back to the car to continue his phone conversations more privately.  
Sherlock's breathing was coming faster and more shallow now. He was beginning to panic. He had to get some air. He had to get back to the car, to John.  
He pushed through the crowds towards the exit signs, not paying attention to where he was going, bent on escaping the suddenly over-bright lights of the hall.  
Sherlock ran through a dimly lit corridor at the end of which was an emergency door. He flung it open and practically flew through it into the alley beyond.  
Leaning back on the wall, bent forward with his hands on his knees Sherlock tried to regulate his breathing.  
The cold air and relative darkness of the alley helped him calm down a bit. He had to find John.

Suddenly headlights flashed at him twice and he turned to see a dark car, the same as John's, slide out from the space it was parked and drive towards him slowly.  
Relief washed through him as he walked up to the rear door with it's dark-tinted windows just as it stopped in front of him.  
Sherlock sighed easily as the door was opened. "Thank God John, I-" He stopped short at the sight that greeted him.  
"Get in Sherlock." Wilkes ordered, pointing a gun at Sherlock's chest. Behind him Eggsy sat hunched over and breathing hard, his nose was bleeding and there was a darkening bruise around his left eye. "Now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want more Mycroft/Eggsy based shenanigans, check out [My, My, My](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10361445)  
> Stay tuned, there may very well be more... x Jess


	7. The Bloody Sex Scene; or, Proof I'm Going to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “God you’re gorgeous. Even like this, your face all bloody.” John said as his hands continued their path, caressing from his face, down the long bloodstained neck to Sherlock’s chest littered with bruises. “Maybe especially like this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, this is it. Several years ago I was watching Little Favour with our blessed goddess of fic, hannahrieu, and I got it in my head that John needed to have Sherlock all bloodied like Ben is in the that infamous scene. So I wrote it, The Bloody Sex Scene, as it has been known for the past few years, and every once in a while I would add another scene to this odd Kingpin world in my head. Thanks to Jess, for actually making it into a story, of sorts, and for getting our favorite Kingsman into this fic. So enjoy, unless blood squicks you out, then just ignore this update.

John was livid. One night, all he wanted was one night to take Sherlock out and have a bit of fun while fulfilling a fucking social obligation. Then Morstan had to hijack his call and keep him away from the gala and Sherlock longer than he intended. Though John knew it was legitimately for business he couldn’t let go of the feeling that it could have waited until the next day and she was just being a brat about Sherlock. John ended the call and returned to the ballroom to find Sherlock had left to go off somewhere, most likely sulking because of his brother. 

Seven unanswered text messages and three calls straight to voicemail did nothing to calm him down. If there was one thing John had learned about Sherlock in the short time they had been together it was his flare for the dramatic. Sherlock’s sulks rivaled the most melodramatic theatrical production: swanning about in tatty pajama pants and silk robe, monologues asserting that sleep and food slowed down his mental faculties only to steal bits of toast off of John’s plate when he thought John wasn’t looking. One thing he did not do was hide his anger, not from John. 

The sky had just turned pink around the edges of the buildings John had been staring at all night, sitting on the sofa in his office, waiting for Sherlock to come home, when an idea that had been forming all night finally spurred him into action. He set his whiskey tumbler down and straightened his shoulders. It wouldn’t do to look desperate during this phone call. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning phone call?” a slightly condescending voice answered the phone. John pinched the bridge of his nose and drew a deep breath.

“I don’t know what you said to him to make him leave, but this is not an affair you should be meddling in,” John bit out, his voice was ice.

“ _Doctor_ Watson, I am sure I don’t know what you are talking about,” the voice replied smoothly.

"Mycroft, don’t fuck with me! Sherlock, I know you have him, but it’s not your decision. He’s sober and he’s happy, isn’t that enough?” John squeezed his eyes shut at the pleading tone he heard in his voice. If John hadn’t known how much he had come to care for Sherlock in the short time they had been together, this phone call was a testament to his feelings for the younger man. 

“Doctor Watson, I am not certain what gave you the impression that Sherlock is in my care at present. And to answer your question, no, it is not enough when the man that my brother is fraternizing with is a drug kingpin.”

John rubbed his hand across his face as he sat with this new information, as much as he was loathe to admit it, John knew that Mycroft was telling the truth; Sherlock had not been forced to leave the gala with Mycroft or one of his minions. Which only left two possibilities: he left of his own free will and was just avoiding John or he had been forced to leave with someone else, someone who was scheming behind John’s back.

“That fucking son of a bitch, he wouldn’t fucking dare!” he breathed out to himself. “I know who has Sherlock.”

“Has? What are you implying, Doctor Watson?” Mycroft asked, concern tinged his voice.

“That fucking weasel, Sebastian Wilkes. His little side hustle has just signed his death warrant.” 

“I would appreciate you letting me know what you think is going on as it concerns my brother, Doctor.” Mycroft’s firm voice cut through John’s rage. John briefed Mycroft on recent events concerning Wilkes, glossing over the less legal aspects, but telling him everything he knew about this new player on the scene,‘Mr. M’. The line on Mycroft’s end went silent for a few moments before he came back on the line.

“I’ve got my people on it, have your head of security contact me and we’ll take care of it.” 

“But I can’t just sit here!” exclaimed John. 

“You can and you will. This is not something that will be happening through the proper channels, and if I know Sherlock, he will raise hell if he isn’t returned to you. I will contact you in one hour with an update.”

And with that the phone line went dead; John resisted the urge to hurl the phone across the room. He wasn’t exactly what he would call the sitting-down type. He wasn’t sure how he was going to just wait for someone else, let alone bloody Mycroft Holmes, to do the work. 

With a deep breath he gathered his wits, he might not be leading the search, but he was going to be here when Sherlock was found. He sent a text to Davis to report immediately. If Mycroft was going to keep him out of the search, he would have his best man in his place.

With that taken care of, John waited.

 

 

 

“Sir, we’ve got him. We’re on route to you now, but sir —” the voice on the other end of the line said. John slumped into his chair, his hand rubbing across his eyes. He took a breath.

“What is it?” John asked when the other man seemed reluctant to continue.

“Sir, he’s in bad shape. Whoever did this was sending a message.”

John pressed the button to end the call without saying anything. His hand shook slightly as he put the phone in his trouser pocket. If Sherlock was hurt, he would need to clean the wounds, have bandages out, maybe he would need the suture kit. He went into the kitchen pulled out a first aid kit and some fresh towels and set them up on the coffee table to be ready when they arrived. His damn hand continued to shake; a bit of whiskey would steady it. He poured two fingers for himself and paused before he replaced the lid. He took out another tumbler and poured some for Sherlock. The man may not normally drink alcohol but this was a circumstance that all but required it.

Just as he tipped the last of the glass into his mouth, John heard the front door open and the footsteps of several men. They came into the living room with Sherlock held up by one of his men, cradling his left arm. Sherlock’s face and neck were covered in blood. A large gash marred his once perfect cheekbone. His left eye was swollen almost shut and his shirt had been ripped open.

John stood in shock, staring at the man who less than twenty-four hours earlier been breathtakingly debauched looking, the man who had turned the heads of every person at the gala. Sherlock shook the man off of him as his eyes set on John.

“Get off of me, you idiot,” he said with a push to the man beside him. “I am quite capable of walking myself.” He limped to the couch and gently sat down, careful not to jar his arm. Dislocated shoulder, John thought, though it seemed that it had already been set back into place before they got here.

“Davis, stay and coordinate with Mills. I don’t want anyone showing up unexpectedly. The rest of you can leave now,” John said to the men waiting by the door. “Davis will contact you when I want you to come in and tell me what the fuck happened.” The men quickly turned and left the room. John waited until he heard the front door shut and then moved to Sherlock.

“Jesus fuck,” he hissed as he crouched down beside the bloody man. “We need to get you cleaned up. And your cheek is going to need stitches.”

Sherlock sat unmoving before him. John pressed the tumbler of whiskey into Sherlock’s right hand.

“Here, drink this. No arguments.” 

Sherlock tipped it back and consumed the liquid in one swallow. He held the glass out to John who took it to the bar to fill again. As Sherlock reached to take it again his hand started shaking. John sat beside him and held the glass and his hand, waiting. Sherlock took a deep breath and lifted the glass to his lips again, this time just taking a sip. John let his hand lightly run up and down Sherlock’s back as the man slumped into his side.

“It’s ok, you’re here with me now. You’re safe, I’ve got you,” John murmured into Sherlocks sweat damp hair. They sat together, John petting Sherlock as he took several deep shaky breaths. “Ok baby, I need to clean you up a bit. Just lay back. Let Dr. Watson take a look at you.” 

John shifted off the sofa to kneel on the floor and began to gently probe around Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I’ll have to give Davis a bonus for setting your shoulder back so well. Does this hurt?” John continued exploring around Sherlock’s shoulder and worked his way down to his bruised ribs. 

“No more than expected, I don’t think any of my ribs are broken.” Sherlock replied, hissing slightly as John pressed into a particularly tender spot.

“Ok, let me look at your face now. Your cheek is definitely going to need stitches. Lucky for you I could do this in my sleep.” 

John wet a flannel and started to clean around the gash. He was going to find Wilkes and he was going to pay. John Watson did not allow people to fuck with his property and get away with it.

After cleaning the wound he numbed the area and began suturing. John took special care as he did not want to leave a scar if possible. It wasn’t vanity, he did not want a reminder of this absolute lapse in his care of Sherlock.

Sherlock had reached his right hand over to rest on John’s leg as he worked, anchoring himself to John. His fingers dug in with each tug of the sutures.

John could feel Sherlock’s breath against his neck as he closed up the wound. He attempted to ignore it, but he could feel himself becoming aroused. John tried to tell himself it was just the adrenaline and proximity; his body reacting to Sherlock underneath him, his warm breath on his skin, the relief that Sherlock was back and mostly in one piece. John set aside the needle and reached up to gently touch beneath the now closed skin.

“God you’re gorgeous. Even like this, your face all bloody.” John said as his hands continued their path, caressing from his face, down the long bloodstained neck to Sherlock’s chest littered with bruises. “Maybe especially like this.”

John leaned his face into Sherlock’s neck and breathed in deep. The tang of blood and sweat filled his nostrils. He tentatively slipped his tongue out to taste Sherlock’s neck. 

“John,” Sherlock breathed out, his hand tightening on John’s thigh. John glanced down to see Sherlock’s cock pressing hard against his zipper. 

“Mm, I’m here, baby, I’ll take care of you,” John whispered, his hands continuing their gentle assault on Sherlock’s battered body. He ran his tongue along Sherlock’s jaw, moving down to suck on his collarbone as Sherlock moaned. John slid his palm over the bulge in his trousers, running up and down his hard cock.

“Do you like that, baby? You like me licking your bloody neck? Here have a taste.” John said as he closed the gap between their lips. John pushed his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth, swirling it around to cover Sherlock’s tongue with his own blood. John’s cock swelled at the thought as he continued to invade Sherlock’s mouth. He reached to unfasten Sherlock’s trousers with one hand, the other he pushed into his damp curls.

“I want you right now, Sherlock. I want to take you apart with my fingers and then sit back while you climb on my cock and fuck yourself until you come all over me,” John said as he stroked Sherlock’s cock through his pants. “I think you want that too, don’t you baby?”

Sherlock moaned and arched into John’s body. John dipped his head to mouth at Sherlock’s pants, his cock strained up to meet John’s mouth. Sherlock’s hips jerked as John moaned against him. 

“Please John, I need more . . . I need you,” he gasped as John continued the assault on his still clothed erection. 

John leaned back to look up at Sherlock. He was an utter wreck. His uninjured arm was grasping the back of the sofa, saliva and blood mixed against his pale skin, his thighs pressed wide around John’s body.

“Yes, baby, I’m going to have you right here, don’t worry,” John said as he reached an arm out to search through the first aid kit, he lifted the salve he found as a if it were a prize. 

“Take your clothes off,” he commanded. Sherlock quickly began toeing off his shoes and shoving his trousers down his legs. He attempted to take his shirt off without jarring his shoulder with little success. John watched him struggle, perhaps a moment too long, before reaching out to pull the sleeves down his arms.

“Kneel on the floor, face the couch.”

John opened the small jar and scooped a finger full of the salve. His other hand began roaming the length of Sherlock’s long back. The pale skin was covered in bruises, much like his chest. John could imagine the deductions Sherlock had let loose to receive a beating like this. His hand settled on the swell of Sherlock’s ass.

“So delicious, I could eat you. Mm, maybe next time though. Spread your knees a bit further, this isn’t going to take long.”

John slid his finger into his tight hole, pausing just until Sherlock exhaled. He continued to work his finger inside of Sherlock until the man was writhing against his hand. John slid another finger and continued to stretch Sherlock open. His mouth sucked bruises into the bits of unmarred skin stretched before him. 

John pulled his fingers out suddenly. The sight of Sherlock broken and aroused was almost too much. His cock strained against his trousers. He could feel the fabric of his pants, wet as it rubbed against the head of his cock. He stood and unfastened his trousers, then sat on the sofa and pulled out his achingly hard cock.

“Come on and climb up here, baby, I want to watch you ride my cock,” John said as he slowly stroked his cock with more salve. Sherlock used his uninjured arm to push himself to his feet. His cock bobbed as he tried to steady himself before he straddled John. 

“That’s it, lift up a bit. Fuck, you are a sight,” John murmured as he rubbed his cock against Sherlock’s slick hole. 

Sherlock kept his left arm close to his body and gripped John’s shoulder with his right. His body was already trembling as he lowered himself onto John's cock. His erection was leaking, leaving wet trails on John's shirt. He hissed out a breath as he came to sit flush with John's lap. 

John closed his eyes and gripped Sherlock's slim hips, holding him tight to his body. He thrust his hips up several times relishing the tight squeeze on his cock before he looked at Sherlock again. 

"I want you to ride my cock now. That's it,” said John. Sherlock’s grasp on John’s shoulder tightened as he shifted his weight to his knees. He was exhausted, thighs shaking as he shifted his body up and down the length of John’s thick cock.

“Fuck, you're gorgeous sitting on my cock." 

John reached his hands around to help lift Sherlock’s plump ass. Sweat coated Sherlock's body, combing with the blood; drops fell from Sherlock’s jaw onto John’s rumpled shirt. Little grunts escaped his lips on each downward thrust. John ran his hands up Sherlock's chest, fingers skimming the bruises. 

Sherlock let go of John’s shoulder and reached down to his own ignored cock. It was hard and wet, the teasing touches of John’s dress shirt adding to the exquisite torture. John reached down and grabbed his wrist just at it gave one slick stroke, pulling it free from his cock.

"Come for me, Sherlock, just like this. Fucking yourself on my cock, nothing else."

Sherlock moaned and his rhythm faltered a bit. He leaned down and caught John's lips. Not able to stop himself, John bit down on Sherlock's lush bottom lip. The tang of fresh blood permeated their kiss. Fingers dug into a bruise on his back and with a moan Sherlock was coming, spilling onto John, still dressed in his suit from the night before. His ass tightened around John’s thick cock. John knew he wasn’t going to last any longer, he thrust up into Sherlock once more and was coming. 

Sherlock collapsed on John as his body shook with aftershocks. They sat there for several minutes, panting into each other's skin. John began caressing Sherlock's back as he came back to himself, his lips ghosting across Sherlock's pale chest. 

"Fuck, baby," he whispered.

"I believe we've already covered that," Sherlock replied, his tone belying the fact that he had been tortured a few hours earlier and then had been shagged senseless. A giggle escaped John's lips. He pressed them against Sherlock's uninjured shoulder in attempt to stifle his laughter, but soon Sherlock was joining in too. 

"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done," confessed John. He reached for Sherlock’s mouth and swiped a bit of the blood away. 

"And you're a drug kingpin,” Sherlock said with a smirk.

John started to lift Sherlock up a bit so they could get cleaned up when Sherlock let out a sharp hiss and held his left arm tighter to his body.

"Shit, come on Sherlock, sit down beside me. What the fuck was I thinking?” John said as he helped the man climb off his lap and sit on the sofa. He grabbed a clean flannel and wiped up a bit of the mess. His face was filled with worry.

"John, stop. You didn't force me into anything. I was practically gagging for it, if I recall correctly.” He caught John’s hand and waited until he lifted his face to meet Sherlock’s gaze. “I trust you, John. Now get me a sling, my shoulder is killing me.”


End file.
